


Sherlock: Until Next Time...

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Family, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Marriage, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:24:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 18,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A step-by-step look at how Gregory Lestrade fell in love with Mycroft Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step One: Meeting the Mysterious Mr Holmes

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** I wrote this story a while ago and it's complete.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Sherlock belongs to the BBC, Mark Gatiss, and Steven Moffat. The original characters are the property of Arthur Conan Doyle. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story.

It wasn’t bad enough that Greg Lestrade had one weird individual in his custody, _now_ he had _another_ weirdo sitting across from him.

Greg groaned and leaned back in his seat to regard the man before him.

He was tall and handsome, late thirties, with wavy ginger-brown hair and pale skin. He had a long nose, full lips, and was wearing an expensive looking three-piece suit with a blue silk shirt, red tie with a pin, and a pocket watch.

The most startling thing, though, were his eyes. Big and blue, they looked cold and threatening, mysterious, like the man behind them held more secrets then you could ever know. He was tapping an umbrella against the floor, long legs crossed and one delicate hand drumming against his knee.

‘So...’ Greg said. The man raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. ‘What do you want again?’

The man sighed, like Greg’s question had really put him out. ‘I want you to release my brother.’

‘Right, and who would that be?’ Greg asked.

‘Sherlock Holmes.’

Greg refrained from commenting, ‘Weird name’, and instead regarded the man again. He seemed older then he looked, like he was under a lot of stress or didn’t sleep much.

The man raised another eyebrow, regarding Greg with a cool look that made the DI feel about ten inches tall.

‘Right, erm... I don’t know who that is.’

The man sighed again. ‘The young addict you brought in three hours ago; brown hair, blue eyes, perhaps shouted out that you are cheating on your wife with a man.’

Greg jumped, jolting his desk and making his pens roll across the surface. The other man made no move to help or apologise as Greg scrambled to stop his writing utensils falling to the floor. ‘Oh,’ Greg managed after clearing up some of the mess, ‘ _him_.’

‘Yes, _him_.’

‘We can’t just let him go.’

‘And why not?’

Greg scowled and looked up at the other man, who simply tilted his head as though he were reading something interesting in the paper. ‘I... he’s an addict for one, we found a heap of coke in his pocket. _And_ he was at a crime scene; he might be the killer!’

‘Sherlock is not a killer.’

‘I don’t care what you think,’ Greg growled, feeling smug when the other man leaned back in his seat. From the looks of things, this rich, posh arsehole didn’t get a lot of people disregarding his thoughts. ‘Your brother is staying here until I can prove that he’s not the killer.’

The man was silent for a minute before saying, ‘I could have you fired with one phone call.’

Greg shrugged. ‘So? Do your worst, Mr Holmes. I’m not letting your brother go until I know he’s innocent.’

Holmes regarded him with another cold look, head tilted, fingers paused over his knee. ‘You will not let my brother go?’ he finally asked.

‘Nope,’ Greg said and leaned back.

‘Even if I threaten to have you fired?’

‘Nope.’

‘Or tell everyone, your wife included, that you actually prefer men and are sleeping with another officer?’

‘No,’ Greg scowled. ‘Threaten me all you fucking want, my job comes before everything else, got it? Tell everyone I’m taking bribes, tell my wife about Mark, tell people whatever the fuck you want.’ He leaned forward and poked a finger at the other man. ‘Say whatever the fuck you want, Holmes, I am _not_ letting your brother go, got it?’

The office was silent and filled with tension as Greg glared at the man and the man stared back. Finally Holmes stood and made to leave.

‘Erm...’ Greg said, stopping when Holmes turned.

‘Yes?’

‘That... that’s it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Er...’

‘Until next time, Detective Inspector,’ Holmes said and walked away, leaving a confused and irritated DI behind.

‘Okay,’ Greg muttered.

 

{oOo}

 

24 hours later, Greg got pulled into his boss’ office and shouted at for ten minutes. Apparently someone high up in the government didn’t care for Greg’s tone or attitude and demanded that Sherlock Holmes be let free.

And try as he might, Greg couldn’t get a word in edgewise, leaving him scowling and in need of a cigarette as he turned to go.

‘Lestrade?’

‘Sir?’

His boss smiled, shuffling papers. ‘Good job.’

Greg blinked. ‘Uh... sir?’

‘I love hearing that we’ve pissed off politicians and this one sounded like he deserved it,’ Mills said. ‘Good job.’

Greg managed a smile before he was heading out.

 

{oOo}

 

Sherlock Holmes smirked as Greg held the door open. ‘So I’m _not_ your killer?’ Greg scowled. ‘What’s the matter, officer? Lover break it off?’

Greg closed his eyes to avoid smacking that arrogant fucking look off the arsehole’s face. Finally he managed to push his anger down and looked Sherlock Holmes right in the eye. 

‘Tell your brother he’s a fucking prick,’ Greg said and turned and walked away.


	2. Step Two: Becoming An Acquaintance

Greg thought that was that; he thought he was done with Sherlock Holmes and his slightly more infuriating older brother.

That was until, four weeks later, Sherlock crashed another crime scene, stoned out of his skull, mouthing off about cats and pollen and men in Batman costumes. Greg just ignored his rambling in favour of cuffing the smug jackass and throwing him into the back of an unmarked car.

Sherlock shouted and threw himself against the door until, three hours later, he was completely knackered and asleep across the seats. He looked oddly sweet like that, knees curled up to his chin, curls hiding his eyes from view. He was the kind of guy Greg usually went for (you know, when slipping off his wedding ring and pretending to not be married to Victoria Lestrade).

But this was Sherlock; he was insane and weird and a drug-addict and his brother was absolutely fucking annoying.

Speaking of his brother, Greg was just about to head back to the Yard to skim over his notes when an expensive black car pulled up. He walked towards it with every intention of telling the occupants to sod off when the back door open and the other Holmes stepped out.

Greg groaned, the other man smirked.

‘Good evening, Detective inspector Lestrade.’

‘What do you want?’

The man tutted. ‘Is that anyway to greet a citizen of this fine country?’

‘Yes, now what do you want?’

Holmes smiled. ‘I want you to let my brother go.’

Greg groaned. ‘Not this again.’

‘Yes, this again.’

‘Why?’

‘My brother has done nothing wrong.’

‘He crashed a crime scene and he’s high as a fucking kite,’ Greg said, jabbing a finger in the relative direction of his car. ‘I can’t just let him go.’

Holmes smiled and there was nothing pleasant about it. ‘Perhaps I need to call your boss again?’

Greg scowled. ‘Yeah, thanks for that, by the way.’

‘You are most welcome.’

‘Seriously, what is your problem?’

Holmes raised an eyebrow and regarded Greg with that cold look the DI was hoping he never have to get used to.

‘Do you enjoy throwing your weight around, is that it?’ Greg demanded. ‘Do you like threatening to ruin people’s lives?’

Holmes opened his mouth to reply but Greg talked over him.

‘You just stand there all cool and fucking mysterious while the rest of us have to trudge around meeting your every goddamn whim. Forget about the fact that your brother just contaminated a fucking crime scene; no, let’s forget that and let him off because big brother’s got a good job. Let’s just forget the fact that he’s high and let him off because _you_ have a fucking power complex!’

Again Holmes opened his mouth and, once again, Greg didn’t let him reply.

‘You know what? Just take him, fucking take him, I don’t care. I’ve been working three fucking days straight and now I’ve got twice as much paperwork because of your darling brother. So take him and if I ever see him again I’ll fucking knock him out cold, got it?’

He turned and stormed away, not stopping until he was by his car.

‘And the same goes for you!’ he shouted at the elder Holmes, who hadn’t moved since Greg began his rant. ‘If I see you again I’m knocking you on your fucking arse!’

Holmes just stood there silently, staring, trying to remember the last time someone had yelled at him and gotten away with it.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg was on his third cup of coffee and feeling a hundred years old when there was a knock on the door. He groaned and looked up, neck cracking as he mumbled, ‘Come in.’

The door opened and Greg groaned louder when the other Holmes entered.

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘Come to tell me I’m fired? No, wait, you’re having me deported. Oh, told my wife I like fucking men on the side?’

Holmes regarded him coolly, umbrella resting against the floor as he closed the door softly.

‘Go on, out with it, I wanna go home.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Greg jumped in his seat and looked up. ‘What?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Holmes replied.

‘You... wait, I’m asleep and this is a dream, right?’

Holmes scowled. ‘Did you not hear me? I said I’m sorry.’

‘I heard you, I just don’t believe it.’ Greg yawned and took a swig of his coffee before leaning back.

Holmes fidgeted with his umbrella before saying, ‘May I sit?’

Greg shrugged and Holmes crossed the room before delicately sitting in one of the seats before Greg’s desk. The two men eyed each other in silence, Greg drinking his coffee, Holmes tapping on his knee.

‘So...’ Greg started, not sure what Holmes wanted.

‘I want to apologise for my behaviour,’ Holmes said slowly, ‘in my line of work I am used to being followed, regardless of what I ask. I forget that I cannot order everybody around without receiving some form of annoyance. Though I must say, I cannot remember the last time I was yelled at.’

Greg just stared, sure he’d had an aneurism. Because men like the elder Holmes didn’t seem the type to apologise.

‘I care about my brother, Detective Inspector,’ Holmes said, ‘and I will do anything to ensure his happiness, even if that means annoying respectable men like yourself.’

‘Er... alright...’ Greg said slowly.

‘Do you accept my apology?’ Holmes asked, suddenly looking innocent and vulnerable.

‘Erm... suppose so, yeah.’

And then the cold, mysterious politician was back. ‘Thank you, Detective.’ After a pause he held out a hand and Greg took it. His skin was smooth, soft, warm, and Greg gulped as he pulled back. ‘Until next time, Detective Inspector.’

‘Next time?’ Greg asked.

Holmes smiled and pulled a business car from his jacket pocket. He slid it across the desk and looked up at Greg, blue eyes mischievous. ‘Next time,’ he said and left.

Greg sat in silence for a minute before picking up the card.

 

_Mycroft Holmes_

 

He smirked. Even his business card seemed pompous. Greg leaned back in his seat and smiled, fiddling with the card. It seemed Mycroft Holmes wasn’t as annoying as Greg first thought.


	3. Step Three: How To Become Mycroft Holmes’ Friend

Greg knows exactly how his and Mycroft’s relationship changed from, "annoying knowledge", to "acquaintances", to "friendship".

It all started when Sherlock once again crashed a crime scene and, again, got the killer right. Mycroft Holmes was sitting in Greg’s office when the DI came back after taking Sherlock’s statement.

‘You can take him when he sobers up,’ Greg said, slapping the file on his desk and falling to sit with a groan.

‘You’re not going to fight me?’ Mycroft asked, raising a manicured eyebrow.

‘Nope; I’m too tired, just accepting fate,’ Greg said. ‘Gonna fill out a report and go home.’

‘You should take better care of yourself.’

Greg looked up at him with bruised eyes. ‘Huh?’

‘You should take better care of yourself,’ Mycroft repeated. ‘If you were to become sick who would Sherlock annoy?’

Greg chuckled and rubbed his face. ‘Yeah, yeah. So, anything else?’

Mycroft pressed his lips together before saying, ‘Can I take you for lunch?’

Greg blinked his eyes open, staring at Mycroft like he was an alien. ‘What?’

‘You haven’t eaten in a day and need a good meal. Allow me to take you to lunch as thanks for putting up with my lunatic brother.’

Greg ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to say no (he didn’t want to owe Mycroft Holmes _anything_ ) but he _was_ hungry. And if he ate he wouldn’t have to put up with his wife smiling at him across the coffee table, both trying to pretend the other wasn’t cheating.

‘Yeah, alright.’

‘What?’ Mycroft said, looking taken aback.

‘I said yeah,’ Greg said and stood, grabbing his coat. ‘What, changed your mind?’

Mycroft smiled as he stood and followed Greg from the office. ‘No, no I haven’t.’ He smiled at Greg as the DI locked the office door.

 

{oOo}

 

They sat at a small cafe, Mycroft playing with his coffee, Greg scoffing down a hamburger and chips.

‘Not hungry?’ the DI asked.

‘I am on a diet.’

Greg looked him up and down. ‘Why?’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘Why does anyone go on a diet?’

Greg shrugged and went back to trying to eat his body weight in food. He smiled sheepishly when Mycroft smirked, taking a swig of coke to wash the food down. ‘Sorry.’

‘Not a problem,’ Mycroft said and pulled his BlackBerry out, flicking through it.

‘So...’ Mycroft looked up at him when he failed to continue. ‘Er, what do you do, exactly?’

Mycroft smiled and re-pocketed his phone. ‘I occupy a minor position in the British Government.’

‘Right, right,’ Greg nodded. ‘What the fuck does that mean?’

Mycroft tisked. ‘Language, Detective.’

‘What? We’re grown men.’ Mycroft just stared at him. ‘Fine, fine. Mr Holmes, pray tell me what exactly that sentence means for I am at a loss to think of what ‘minor position in the British Government’ means.’

Mycroft chuckled and Greg found he liked the noise; Mycroft should laugh more often.

‘It means what it means; I hold a minor position,’ Mycroft said. ‘Paperwork, meetings.’

‘Right, and that paperwork means you can get your little brother out of prison?’ Greg asked. ‘Even when he’s held for possible murder and possession of cocaine?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded.

‘What a load of–’ he cut himself off when Mycroft arched an eyebrow. ‘Erm... what a load of... sorry, I can’t think of another word besides bullshit.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing else I can say that might make you believe me.’

Greg shrugged. ‘How about you continue to lie and I continue to not believe you?’ He bit into his burger, Mycroft watching him closely.

‘Very well,’ the politician finally said.

 

{oOo}

 

The car pulled up outside Greg’s flat and he turned to look at Mycroft. ‘You know where I live?’

‘Of course.’

Greg shook his head. ‘Minor position, yeah right.’

Mycroft smiled and held out his hand. ‘It was lovely having lunch with you, Detective Inspector.’

‘ _I_ had lunch,’ Greg said and took the man’s hand. ‘Maybe next time you can too.’

‘Next time?’ Mycroft asked, letting his hand fall to rest on his leg.

Greg lifted his eyes and blushed slightly. ‘Well, erm... I... you know what I meant!’

Mycroft chuckled as Greg opened the door. ‘Yes, Detective, I do.’

‘Well... thanks, Mr Holmes.’

‘Until next time, Detective,’ Mycroft said and smiled as Greg shut the door. He leaned back in his seat and looked down at his hand, squeezing his fingers together before pushing away the memory of Greg’s skin against his own.

 

{oOo}

 

It was another four lunches before Mycroft actually ate anything. He had a small salad and Greg’s eyes popped out.

‘Yes?’ Mycroft asked, stirring his coffee.

‘You’re actually eating.’

‘I _do_ eat, Detective.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ Greg chuckled as he slid into his seat.

It had been two months since Sherlock had started working for Scotland Yard, per Mycroft Holmes’ request, and the politician had now called Greg four times to have lunch and discuss Sherlock.

‘How have you been?’ Mycroft asked, playing with his salad lazily.

The question took Greg by surprise. Usually it was, "How is Sherlock?" and "Tell me about my brother". Never questions about how Greg was.

‘Er... I’m fine,’ Greg shrugged. ‘Working, sleeping, trying to pretend my wife isn’t cheating on me.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘You are also cheating.’

‘She cheated first,’ Greg grumbled, raising a hand to order.

Mycroft nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I find myself in the same predicament.’ Greg looked at him as the waitress left to get his food. ‘My husband started cheating on me and now I cheat on him.’

‘Oh,’ Greg said, suddenly feeling... annoyed. ‘You’re married?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said and showed his right hand.

‘To... to a man?’

Mycroft smiled slightly. ‘Seeing as how I am gay, it would be a little strange for me to be married to a woman.’

‘No, right, ’course,’ Greg nodded and sipped the coke Mycroft had had delivered. ‘I just... never would have guessed.’

‘Well you are the first,’ Mycroft said and ate a lettuce leaf delicately. ‘Everybody assumes I'm gay.’

‘Why?’ Greg questioned.

‘I speak politely, dress well, and over-groom. My parents had their suspicions and Sherlock knew before I told him. Then again, he knows everything.’

Greg chuckled. ‘God, he must have been a nightmare to grow up with.’

‘Mm, well there is a ten-year-age gap so I was in my twenties before he hit puberty. I got to miss the sullen stage of his development. Now, of course, he is just annoying all the time.’

Greg laughed and tried to wipe the smile off his face as the waitress put his food down. ‘So, Sherlock’s been good lately; not high or anything. Still a bloody nightmare in a dark coat.’

‘Yes, he does love being dramatic,’ Mycroft chuckled and popped a tomato into his mouth.

Greg watched him chew softly, trying to ignore the feelings spreading through his gut. ‘Yeah,’ he managed and looked away when Mycroft’s eyes settled on him. ‘Dramatic.’

Mycroft looked him over carefully before checking his phone.

 

{oOo}

 

It was forty lunches and almost two whole years before Greg called Mycroft by his first name. By now they enjoyed each other’s company and when Greg was dropped off at Scotland Yard, he turned and said, ‘Thank you, Mr Holmes.’

‘Please, call me Mycroft,’ the politician replied.

‘Only if you call me Greg,’ Greg grinned back.

Mycroft smiled before saying, ‘Until next time, Gregory.’

Greg chuckled and waved as the car pulled away. Suddenly he felt like maybe, just maybe, he and Mycroft were becoming friends.

He snorted. God, at one point in time he’d wanted to smack the guy in the head. Now? Well, Greg would rather not think about what he wanted to do to the man now.


	4. Step Four: Oh Damn, You’re Attracted to Him

Greg knew Mycroft Holmes was attractive but it was a whole six years until he realised _he_ was attracted to Mycroft. They were firm friends now, even more so after the appearance of John Watson and Greg’s divorce.

They met for dinner one evening and Mycroft was ranting about his brother and John.

‘And _then_ they go and steal my car!’ Mycroft huffed, swirling his wine before taking a gulp.

Greg just chuckled. They’d come a long way since meeting for near-silent lunches and awkward hand-shakes. Now Mycroft opened up and laughed; he actually smiled and shared stories and got angry in front of the DI.

‘Sometimes I think I should have my brother locked up,’ Mycroft scowled.

‘You’ve been saying that for six years,’ Greg said.

Mycroft looked up at him. ‘Six years?’

‘Yeah,’ Greg nodded and cut up his chicken. ‘We’ve known each other about six years now.’

Slowly, a smile spread across Mycroft’s face. ‘Well, that’s... interesting.’

‘How?’

Mycroft shrugged. ‘It just is.’

Greg smiled and went back to his dinner, unaware that Mycroft was regarding him over his wine glass.

 

{oOo}

 

It became apparent to Greg when he was at a crime scene, Sherlock Holmes sniffing about the body like a deranged lunatic, John Watson just standing beside him and watching his boyfriend.

Mycroft had only just informed Greg that the two were finally together and the DI smiled at his friend. ‘Congratulations.’

John jumped. ‘What?’

‘Congratulations on getting together with Sherlock.’

John raised his eyebrows. ‘How’d you know?’

‘Mycroft told me.’

John turned to look at him properly. ‘Mycroft?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Since when do you talk to Mycroft?’

Greg looked at him. ‘Ages, we’ve been mates since I met Sherlock.’

‘You... have?’

‘Yeah, he’s a good guy, you know, after you get past the ‘I want to kill him stage’.’ He smiled slightly and looked down, mind filled with images of Mycroft. Suddenly John chuckled and Greg looked at him. ‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ John grinned.

‘John, what?’

‘Nothing,’ the doctor repeated as Sherlock came over.

‘John, you’re being annoying.’

‘No he isn’t,’ Sherlock said and grinned at his boyfriend.

‘Yeah he is,’ Greg said and glared at the doctor. ‘What is it?’

John just shrugged. ‘Nothing, honestly.’

‘Why are you two arguing?’ Sherlock asked.

‘I said I was mates with Mycroft,’ Greg explained, ‘and then John started grinning and won’t tell me why.’

And now Sherlock was grinning.

‘What?’ the DI demanded.

‘We are grinning, Gregory, because you–’

‘No, Sherlock!’ John shouted.

‘– are attracted to my brother,’ Sherlock said anyway, his partner groaning.

Greg just stared at him. ‘What? No I’m not.’

‘Yes you are,’ Sherlock said.

‘I... I am _not_ ,’ Greg argued.

John tutted. ‘Greg, you totally are.’

‘No... what?’

Sherlock sighed. ‘Whenever you talk, think, or are with my brother, you blush and stumble and your pupils dilate, your breathing quickens... I can give you a dozen more examples but I don’t want to. My point is you are attracted to my brother.’

‘I... no,’ Greg shook his head. No, he couldn’t be attracted to Mycroft, he’d have known by now, right? He’d known the guy six years, it would have been obvious by now.

But standing there at a crime scene, thinking about all the times he’d been with the elder Holmes, Greg was suddenly hit with the realisation.

Shit, he was attracted to Mycroft Holmes.

‘And there he goes, everyone give DI Lestrade a round of applause,’ Sherlock said dryly.

‘Shit,’ Greg said and reached for his cigarettes. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

‘Why is it a bad thing?’ John asked.

‘He’s married,’ Greg said.

‘Divorced, two years,’ Sherlock corrected.

Greg looked at him. ‘What?’

‘He and Steven divorced two years ago when Mycroft was caught giving a waiter a very big tip.’ He smirked. ‘He is currently single so by all means go and shag him.’

‘I... what?’

Sherlock tutted. ‘Just stop, Lestrade, you’re embarrassing yourself. You are looking for a woman, late thirties, with dark brown hair. She is a school teacher and close to the victim.’ And then he left with a twirl of his dark coat.

‘Er... sorry?’ John said and followed his partner.

Greg swore again and lit a cigarette, sucking smoke into his lungs.

Son of a fucking bitch.

He was attracted to Mycroft Holmes.


	5. Step Five: Admitting You Are Attracted to A Certain Politician

Greg tried to forget about the attraction, really he did. It didn’t matter that he, and Mycroft, were both single because Mycroft had never, ever showed even the slightest hint that he was attracted to the DI.

And he was _Mycroft Holmes_ for God’s sake. He was brilliant and charming and rich and had more power than the Royal Family. Why would he want Greg of all people?

It became apparent that something was bothering Greg at their next dinner. They rarely talked about Sherlock these days, preferring to swap stories about their week and generally just have a good time.

Mycroft looked over his dinner to see that Greg had barely eaten any of his. ‘Is something the matter, Gregory?’

‘Huh?’ Greg jumped, nearly knocking over his wine. ‘Er, no, nothing’s wrong.’

‘You’ve barely eaten.’

‘Not hungry,’ Greg shrugged.

‘Are you sure something’s not bothering you?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg sighed and stirred his food, trying very hard not to look at Mycroft. Because now that he was aware of his attraction, it was all he could think about. Every time Mycroft looked at him, Greg imagined the man naked. Every time Mycroft licked his lips, Greg thought about kissing him. And every time Mycroft bent over... well, Gregory Lestrade was having some very adult thoughts lately.

‘It’s just... something Sherlock said,’ Greg finally mumbled.

‘And...?’ Mycroft prompted.

‘It’s nothing, really,’ Greg said.

‘Gregory, obviously it isn’t nothing,’ Mycroft tutted, sipping his wine. ‘You seem upset. Has Sherlock said something annoying?’

‘Not annoying, no,’ Greg said. ‘Honestly, can we just drop it?’

‘But you’re upset.’

‘ _You’re_ making me upset,’ Greg muttered.

‘What have I done?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Nothing, nothing,’ Greg sighed.

Mycroft put his wine down. ‘Gregory, what is the matter? Do I have to have a talk with Sherlock?’

‘No!’ Greg said quickly, eyes wide. ‘God, no, please don’t!’ The last thing he needed was Sherlock telling his brother Greg was attracted to him.

‘Why not?’

‘Mycroft, just... let it go, okay?’

‘I can’t, not when you’re upset.’

Greg sighed again. ‘Mycroft, _please_.’

‘Gregory–’

‘Let it go.’

‘But–’

‘No.’

‘Greg–’

‘I’m attracted to you!’ Greg shouted, glad to see Mycroft’s mouth fall open and eyes go wide. ‘There, happy? Sherlock and John pointed out to me a few days ago that I’m attracted to you! So there, you know, happy now?’

Greg threw his napkin down and stood.

‘I have to go, Mycroft.’

And he left without another word.

 

{oOo}

 

It was nearing midnight when Greg’s doorbell buzzed. He groaned and lifted himself from the couch, hoping it wasn’t anything important. He really just wanted to fall into bed and forget this day had ever happened.

He pulled the door open to find Mycroft Holmes and nearly groaned again. The man was fidgeting with his umbrella, looking anywhere but at Greg.

‘Mycroft, what?’ Greg said. Mycroft didn’t answer. ‘Look, let’s just... forget about what I said, okay? I’m sorry.’

‘No, I don’t want to forget,’ Mycroft said.

Greg raised his eyebrows. ‘What? Why not?’

Slowly, Mycroft looked up at him. Their eyes met and Mycroft blushed.

‘Mycroft?’

‘I’m attracted to you too.’

Greg blinked. Silence descended on them, minutes passing by as each man just stared at the other.

‘You... you what?'

‘I’m attracted to you too,’ Mycroft repeated. ‘I have been for years.’

‘Mycroft–’

‘Until next time, Gregory,’ Mycroft said quickly and hurried off.

Greg just stood at his door, staring as Mycroft climbed into his car and was driven away. Slowly Mycroft’s words sunk in.

And Greg grinned.


	6. Step Six: Dating the British Government

Greg was all smiles when he got to work the next day. True, he and Mycroft hadn’t exactly planned a date or anything, but the other man liked him, liked _him_! Greg felt like a teenager again; like he’d just kissed Christopher Reilly for the first time behind his locker and felt giddy/scared/aroused.

‘What’s got you all grinning?’ Sally Donovan asked as he walked into his office.

The DI shrugged. ‘Nothing,’ he said but still couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

‘Nothing?’ Sally echoed.

‘Yup.’

‘Yeah right. You get lucky or something?’

‘Sally,’ he tutted and fell to sit. He shot up immediately once he saw the man standing in his doorway. ‘Mycroft?’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft said, looking as nervous as Greg felt.

The two men just stared at each other until Sally, as only a woman could tell, chuckled and said, ‘Right, right, I’ll be going.’ She winked at Greg as she shut the door behind her, Greg blushing.

‘So...’ the DI said.

‘I apologise for running off last night,’ Mycroft said.

‘No worries.’

‘I just...’

‘Just?’ Greg prompted.

‘I... I don’t know what to do,’ Mycroft admitted.

‘About what?’ Greg asked.

‘About... this,’ Mycroft said and gestured between them.

‘Well,’ Greg said and rounded the desk to lean against it, facing Mycroft. ‘Are you seeing anyone?’

‘No.’

‘And you’re divorced?’

‘Two years,’ Mycroft said.

‘Right,’ Greg nodded, ‘and you’re attracted to me?’

‘Most definitely,’ Mycroft said before blushing and looking away. Greg had never seen the man so flustered.

‘I’m attracted to you too.’

‘Okay,’ Mycroft said.

Greg smiled. ‘Well, what do two people normally do when attracted to each other?’ Mycroft just stared at him. ‘They date, Mycroft.’

‘D-Date?’

‘Do you want to date me?’ Greg asked, folding his arms.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said.

‘Okay, so we go on a date,’ Greg said. ‘When are you free?’

Mycroft paused to go through his mental schedule. ‘Tuesday evening.’

‘I’ll see you then,’ Greg smiled.

‘Seven o’clock?’

‘Sounds great.’

Mycroft gave him a tentative smile before pulling the door open. ‘I’ll... pick you up?’

‘From my flat would be nice, thank you,’ Greg smiled.

Mycroft smiled back before leaving. Greg breathed a sigh and fell into his seat. He went over the conversation in his head and grinned.

He had a date.

With Mycroft Holmes.

‘YES!’

A few people turned to stare and Greg cleared his throat before going about his work.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg was feeling downright nervous as he waited for Mycroft. The man had never been a minute earlier or later then the time he had set so when seven ticked around the doorbell buzzed.

Greg swallowed and patted down his hair as he answered the door. Mycroft looked no different than he usually did but it still felt... well, different. Greg gulped as he looked the man up and down.

‘Er... hello.’

Mycroft seemed incapable of speech, eyes wide as he looked Greg over. The DI had dressed nicely; smart trousers, collared shirt, nice sweater. Greg smiled slightly.

‘Do I... look okay?’

Mycroft managed a nod.

‘Okay,’ Greg said and turned to lock the door. ‘So...’

‘Erm... after... after you,’ Mycroft said and gestured to the car.

Greg smiled and walked to it.

 

{oOo}

 

They were seated immediately, Mycroft’s presence enough to have the waiters scurrying to meet his every need. Greg smiled as he flipped open his menu.

‘What?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Just... I’ll never get used to you getting everything you want.’

Mycroft smiled at him. ‘I have everything I could possibly want right now.’

Greg grinned and blushed, looking down at his menu again.

 

{oOo}

 

They started awkwardly, stumbling their way through conversations as they ate their entrees and sipped their drinks. It wasn’t until the main course came that they fell into a comfortable discussion.

‘My parents were so mad when they found out I liked guys too.’

‘Why?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg smiled. ‘Well, they only found out when my principal called them.’ An eyebrow raise had him elaborating. ‘I was... kind of snogging a guy in the change rooms.’ Mycroft chuckled and Greg said, ‘I didn’t mean to but Andy took his shirt off and then looked at me and...’ he trailed off when he realised Mycroft was giggling. ‘What?’

‘So all a man has to do is take his shirt off and you’ll kiss him?’

‘No,’ Greg scowled and Mycroft grinned. ‘How’d you come out, then?’

‘Well, my parents had their suspicions; at sixteen I was rather... well, I used a lot of product and spoke much like I do now. And I liked certain male actors a bit more then was usual.’

Greg chuckled.

‘I told them when I was seventeen and Sherlock said, ‘Duh, My, everybody knows you like boys’.’

‘Oh my God, really?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded over his wine. ‘Mummy just smiled and said, ‘That’s wonderful, My. Would you like some bacon?’’ Greg giggled. ‘And Father didn’t even hear me. Later he heard Sherlock call me, ‘boy-crazy’ and he said, ‘What?’ Sherlock told him I liked boys and he just shrugged.’

‘God,’ Greg smiled. ‘Better then how my brother reacted; shouted at me for twenty minutes before demanding to know if I’d kissed any of his mates.’

‘Had you?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg smiled over his wine. ‘I don’t kiss and tell, Mycroft.’

Mycroft chuckled.

And after that, everything was just fine.

 

{oOo}

 

Mycroft walked Greg to his flat, the DI turning nervously after unlocking his door. ‘Would you... like to come up?’

‘No, I’m fine.’

‘Oh,’ Greg frowned. ‘Okay.’

They stood in silence, Mycroft fiddling with his umbrella.

‘Well–’

‘I had a lovely time but I have to go,’ Mycroft cut Greg off.

‘Right,’ Greg said. ‘I had a good time too.’

Mycroft nodded and said, ‘Until next time?’

Greg smiled and watched as Mycroft turned and left. He swore when Mycroft’s car drove away.

 

{oOo}

 

Later in bed, Greg’s mobile buzzed and he slid it open to find a text.

 

_I’m sorry – Mycroft_

 

He propped himself up on one elbow to reply.

 

**About?**

 

He waited nervously for Mycroft’s reply.

 

_I believe a good date is usually followed by a kiss goodnight but I wasn’t sure if it was a good date for you – Mycroft_

 

Greg tutted. Sometimes Mycroft was so stupid.

 

**Of course it was good, best date I’ve had in years.**

 

_Really? – Mycroft_

 

**Of course.**

 

_So you would not be opposed to another one? – Mycroft_

 

Greg smiled.

 

**I’d love another date.**

 

_I am free next Friday. I’ll pick you up at eight? – Mycroft_

 

**Sounds great. Maybe you’ll get that kiss.**

 

_I look forward to it. Until next time, Gregory – Mycroft_

 

Greg fell asleep grinning.


	7. Step Seven: Kissing Mycroft Holmes

The next date was even better then the first, both men feeling less awkward when they took their seats. They laughed and chatted and giggled their way through four hours of the date until once again they were at Greg’s front door.

‘So...’ Greg said slowly. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘Remember those texts?’

Suddenly Mycroft was nervous again and looked down. He tapped his umbrella against the concrete, refusing to look up.

Greg realised Mycroft wasn’t going to initiate anything and stepped forward. When he got close Mycroft looked up.

‘Gregory?’

‘Shh,’ Greg said and took Mycroft’s face in his hands. Slowly, he closed his eyes and leaned up.

Their lips brushed together and Mycroft froze as Greg kissed him, eyes wide. Greg thought he’d never kiss back and sighed as he drew back.

Suddenly Mycroft’s arms were around him, umbrella clattering to the ground as Mycroft hauled Greg in. Their bodies pressed together as Mycroft kissed Greg heatedly, lips hard against the DI’s and drawing a groan from the older man.

Slowly Greg forced Mycroft’s lips apart and darted his tongue in, tasting Mycroft’s mouth and making the younger man moan. Mycroft’s arms tightened around Greg, like he never wanted the kiss to end. Greg didn’t either but his lungs started aching and he reluctantly drew back.

He leaned against Mycroft, both men panting as they tried to catch their breath.

‘So...’ Greg mumbled.

‘Mm?’

‘Nice kiss that one.’

Mycroft chuckled and drew back to smile down at Greg. ‘Yes, I agree.’

‘Wanna do it again?’

Mycroft grinned. ‘Most definitely.’ This time he started the kiss, squeezing Greg’s arms tightly as their lips met. They exchanged soft, slow kisses, mouths melding together, heads tipped to the side to get at each other better. Mycroft began licking at Greg’s lips and the DI opened up, inviting Mycroft in and groaning when his tongue curled to meet his own.

They stood on the DI’s doorstep kissing for about an hour, neither man wanting to stop. Finally Mycroft’s BlackBerry rang and he groaned.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled as he broke the kiss, reaching into his pocket to pull out his mobile. He read the text quickly before looking up at Greg. ‘I have to go.’

‘No worries,’ Greg shrugged. ‘Work, right?’

‘I don’t want to go.’

Greg smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Mycroft’s swollen lips. ‘Until next time.’

Mycroft smiled and kissed him quickly before turning and leaving, Greg watching him the entire time.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg looked up to see Mycroft Holmes stepping into his office. He hadn’t seen the man since a week before when they’d shared their first kiss and grinned.

‘Hello.’

‘Good afternoon, Gregory,’ Mycroft smiled, blushing and looking away. ‘I was wondering if you were free for lunch.’

‘Hmm,’ Greg said and stood. ‘On one condition.’

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as Greg rounded his desk and walked towards him. ‘And that would be?’

Instead of answering, Greg pushed Mycroft roughly against the door, the taller man’s eyes going wide.

‘Gregor–’

He was cut off when Greg pressed their lips together, kissing Mycroft softly before moving to run his hands across Mycroft’s chest and deepen the kiss.

Mycroft moaned and wrapped his free arm around Greg, pulling him in until their bodies pressed together. When they broke apart Mycroft was panting heavily. ‘Erm...’

‘Now we can go to lunch,’ Greg grinned.

‘V-Very well,’ Mycroft said and cleared his throat as he stood straight.

Greg chuckled and kissed him quickly before opening the door.

 

{oOo}

 

Their first proper make-out session happened a month after they got together. Mycroft actually said yes to Greg’s invite upstairs and sat himself down on the DI’s couch, looking around at the messy flat.

‘Sorry,’ Greg said as he looked around.

‘Not a problem,’ Mycroft smiled.

Greg sat down tentatively after putting on a DVD, about three inches between him and Mycroft. Over the course of the movie they moved closer and closer together until Greg was hauling Mycroft in, lips hard and demanding.

Mycroft moaned and shifted forward, trying to bring their bodies together despite their legs being in the way. Suddenly Greg was falling back and taking Mycroft with him, the taller man yelping as he came to a stop atop Greg.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Haven’t you ever just spent an hour making out with someone?’ Greg asked.

‘Not really, no.’

‘So you and your husband...?’ Greg asked. Mycroft shook his head. ‘That’s okay; we’ll just make up for lost time.’ He grinned and wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s back, kissing him gently.

Mycroft slowly relaxed into it, one hand running up and down Greg’s chest, the other threading through the DI’s hair. He pulled on the soft, grey strands, moaning softly as Greg’s lips pushed against his own.

Mycroft had lost his jacket when the DVD started and felt Greg’s warm hands press through the thin cotton of his shirt. He moaned softly, tilting his head to better lock lips with Greg and give him a nice, long kiss. 

Mycroft’s entire body weight was pressing down on Greg and the DI resisted the urge to thrust up into Mycroft’s crotch. The man had been hesitant enough kissing Greg, making the older man wonder just how many times Mycroft Holmes had kissed someone even while married. He didn’t want to scare Mycroft off.

So he stuck to rubbing his hands up and down the taller man’s back, sucking Mycroft’s tongue into his mouth and letting the politician’s sexy, expensive cologne fill his nostrils.

Everything about Mycroft was soft and delicate; his smooth cheeks were warm under Greg’s fingers, his hair soft beneath his touch. His shoulders and chest and stomach were all very warm and only getting warmer as Greg pressed against him. His thighs were muscular and strong where they rested against Greg’s, the right one coming up to rub up and down against Greg’s own.

Greg smiled into the kissing, keeping his eyes closed and trying to feel and enjoy every single moment of the kissing and touching and just... everything.

They broke apart when the DVD menu popped up, music blaring from the speakers. Greg shifted to mute it and when he looked back Mycroft was blushing.

‘What?’

‘Erm...’

Greg felt it then, Mycroft’s erection pressing into his thigh. He smiled and said, ‘It’s fine, Mycroft.’

‘It is?’

‘It tends to happen when you make out with someone for an hour.’

‘Okay.’

‘Just... relax, alright?’

‘You don’t find it weird or embarrassing?’

‘’Course not,’ Greg shook his head. He ran a thumb over Mycroft’s cheek, the politician humming in enjoyment. ‘It’s sweet, really, that I can make you feel that; and bloody hot.’

Mycroft chuckled but was still blushing.

‘Seriously, Mycroft, it’s fine.’

‘Okay,’ Mycroft said. ‘Can we kiss again?’

Greg giggled and nodded. ‘Of course we can.’

‘I like kissing you,’ Mycroft said softly.

‘I like kissing you too,’ Greg smiled.

Mycroft grinned and bent his head to kiss Greg again, lips warm and swollen. Greg let him lead, enjoying when Mycroft made him tilt his head, or made Greg open his lips so he could tongue his way in.

Greg just groaned and enjoyed the ride, fingers squeezing Mycroft’s hips. He moaned into the politician’s mouth, tongue coming out to twist around Mycroft’s. He threaded his fingers through Mycroft’s wavy hair, pulling slightly in an attempt to get Mycroft closer. Mycroft groaned and rutted against him, pushing his cock against Greg’s thigh.

He pulled back immediately, eyes wide and face flushed. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Why?’ Greg asked, sitting up and panting.

‘I... I didn’t mean to do that,’ Mycroft gulped. ‘I just enjoyed it when you... erm...’

‘Mycroft, it’s okay, really,’ Greg said. ‘I liked it too.’

‘Why?’

Greg smiled. ‘It feels nice to know that you’re turned on by what I do. It turns me on too.’ Mycroft just stared at him. ‘Mycroft, how long’s it been since you... had sex?’

‘Erm... five years.’

‘I thought you were only divorced two.’ Mycroft looked away and it clicked in Greg’s head. ‘Oh... so, no sex for three years before you two got divorced?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said. ‘My last lover was just after I met you.’ He blushed again and looked down.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I... I broke up with my lover because I... liked you,’ Mycroft mumbled.

Greg smiled. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s sweet.’

‘No it isn’t.’

Greg sighed and pulled himself into Mycroft, forcing the politician to lie on his back.

‘What are you doing?’ Greg rutted against him, pushing his cock into Mycroft’s hip. ‘God, Gregory,’ he moaned.

‘Like that?’

‘Uh huh,’ Mycroft managed, closing his eyes as Greg pressed kisses to his neck.

‘Just go with it, Mycroft; stop thinking.’

‘I’ll try.’

Greg smiled and licked a trail down Mycroft’s neck, fingering the expensive t-shirt beneath him. ‘We could always take these clothes off.’ Mycroft’s eyes flew open and he looked scared again. ‘Okay, we can just kiss, it’s alright,’ Greg soothed.

‘Thank you,’ Mycroft murmured.

‘No worries,’ Greg whispered and kissed him softly.

They didn’t stop until Mycroft’s BlackBerry beeped. Both men groaned and broke apart, Greg gasping for air as Mycroft flicked through his phone. He sighed and looked at Greg.

‘You have to go?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded. ‘Believe me, I don’t want to.’

‘I know,’ Greg said and leaned forward to kiss him softly. ‘Call me?’

‘I will, promise,’ Mycroft smiled.

They exchanged kisses as Mycroft backed to the door. Finally he got it open and smiled.

‘I miss you already.’

‘Miss you too,’ Greg smiled.

Mycroft gave him another kiss. ‘Until next time, Gregory.’

Greg smiled and watched him go.

 

{oOo}

 

The first time they kissed in front of anyone was after Sherlock got hurt on a case. Greg and John were at the hospital, sitting with the consulting detective who was shouting at any hospital staff stupid enough to come near.

Mycroft walked into the room and smiled. ‘Sherlock, always marvellous to see you.’

‘Go away, Mycroft,’ Sherlock groaned.

‘Afraid I can’t, little brother,’ Mycroft said and looked at Greg. He walked across the room, dropped his umbrella, and hauled the DI in for a nice, long, passionate snog.

Greg groaned against him, John smiled and Sherlock tutted.

‘Honestly, Mycroft,’ the genius sighed.

Mycroft ignored him, pulling back to look at Greg.

‘What was that for?’ the DI asked.

‘For saving my brother,’ Mycroft said. ‘And because I like you.’

Greg smiled. ‘Good.’ He pulled Mycroft in again.

Sherlock threw a pillow, John slapped him.

Greg and Mycroft ignored everything in favour of kissing each other.


	8. Step Eight: What Do You Call Him?

Greg really didn’t know what to call Mycroft. Friend? Partner? Boyfriend? Significant other? He didn’t know what to do without discussing it with Mycroft and they didn’t have a chance before Sally Donovan was asking, ‘So, what are you two?’

Greg looked up at the politician, who was rearranging his jacket after a good make-out session in Greg’s office.

‘We're friends,’ he answered.

Greg didn’t want to be hurt by that but he was. He knew Mycroft was nervous and shy about their relationship but at least figured he merited something more than ‘friend’.

Mycroft sensed his hurt and frowned at Greg, the DI looking away.

‘Come on,’ he grunted, ‘lunch with your mate.’

He walked away before Mycroft could answer, the taller man sighing, Sally raising her eyebrows.

 

{oOo}

 

It was Greg who went out of his way to point out that he and Mycroft were just friends. Mycroft would stare at him each time, like the word caused him physical pain. Greg didn’t care; Mycroft said they were friends, so they were friends.

He said it to the waitress who commented that they were a cute couple.

‘No, we’re just friends,’ he said, glaring at Mycroft over his glass.

Mycroft sighed.

He said it to the woman who took their coffee order, the young girl looking startled when Greg snapped, ‘We’re friends, nothing more!’

Mycroft bit his lip.

He said it to Anthea, Mycroft’s assistant, when she said Mycroft was free for a date that night.

‘Not a date, just dinner between two _friends_!’ Greg snarled.

‘Gregory...’

Greg ignored him.

He said it again to Sally Donovan when she asked how it was going.

‘We’re just friends, Sally, remember?’ He raised an eyebrow at Mycroft, as though daring him to contradict the DI. He didn’t and Greg stormed away.

He said it to John and Sherlock when the younger Holmes commented that they were a very disgusting couple.

‘We’re not a couple!’ he shouted, earning looks from Donovan and Anderson and everyone within a mile radius. ‘We’re mates, acquaintances, buddies, _friends_! Nothing else, got it?’

John stared with wide-eyes, Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

‘Did my brother say something stupid?’ he asked.

Greg told him to shut it and stalked away.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg was in a foul mood when Mycroft turned up to pick him up. It was some function for the politician and Greg kept a scowl on his face all the way there and halfway through the beginning. He just stood to the side, drinking his champagne and trying to look like he wanted to be there.

Suddenly Mycroft was by his side, sipping his own drink.

‘Gregory...’

‘What?’

Mycroft sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘For saying... that we were just friends.’

Greg shrugged. ‘No need to apologise, Mycroft. Friends forgive each other, right?’

‘Gregory, we’ve been dating four months, I consider you–’ He cut himself off when another man joined them, shaking Mycroft’s hand.

‘And who’s this?’ the man asked, turning to look at Greg. Greg tried to smile, really he did.

‘Gregory, this is Martin Cheney,’ Mycroft said and turned to look at the DI. ‘Martin, this is Gregory,’ Mycroft paused before smiling, ‘my boyfriend.’

It took a minute for the words to sink in but when they did Greg grinned and looked down at his champagne.

‘Boyfriend?’ Martin said.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded and sipped his drink. ‘Gregory makes me very happy.’

Martin smiled.

In that moment, nobody was as happy as Gregory Lestrade.


	9. Step Nine: Holding Hands

Mycroft didn’t do public displays of affection. Not because he didn’t like them but because he didn’t know how to act. He didn’t know how far he was supposed to go or when he was supposed to stop or anything.

Though Greg would like to just hold his boyfriend’s hand once in a while, he settled for smiling at him as they walked or grinning when their knees bumped beneath the table.

They were dating six months when one night they found themselves walking back to Greg’s flat, shoulders bumping together. Suddenly Mycroft reached out and threaded their fingers together.

‘Myc?’

Mycroft blushed and gave Greg’s hand a squeeze. ‘I just wanted to... sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ Greg grinned and leaned over to kiss his cheek. ‘I love it.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course,’ Greg said, glad that Mycroft was comfortable enough to do this. It meant they were moving forward.

Greg gave Mycroft a big smile.

And, slowly, Mycroft smiled back.


	10. Step Ten: Life With Mycroft Holmes

Life with Mycroft Holmes as your boyfriend (that thought still had Greg grinning) was difficult. It was amazing and brilliant and weird and fun and annoying and so very, very good.

It was difficult because both of them always worked, Mycroft more than Greg. They often had to cancel dates when Greg caught a murder or Sherlock did something incredibly stupid. Mycroft was always cancelling when some nation Greg had never heard of declared war against an equally ambiguous nation, jetting off to places unknown to sort everything out with that massive brain.

But he always came back to Greg with dinner and a kiss. He was always there to hug Greg tightly and murmur how much the man meant to him. That more than made up for the time spent apart. Greg was always there to offer Mycroft a reassuring smile after a hard day’s work or a glass of wine when the politician was about to drop from exhaustion.

It was amazing because _Mycroft_ was amazing. He had the ability to completely sweep Greg off his feet. He turned up to surprise the DI with coffee or food or just a quick kiss while the DI was at work. He took Greg to amazing restaurants when Greg needed it and cooked dinner in the DI’s flat when Greg wanted a night in.

He was able to keep Greg giggling like an idiot for hours on end, able to entertain him with tales of his and Sherlock’s childhood and the less secret stories about his work. He was able to have Greg panting and moaning for more when they lay on the DI’s couch, sucking each other’s tongues into their mouths and cussing as their bodies heated up.

It was brilliant because there was never a dull moment. Yeah, Greg hated it when Mycroft was out of the country for a week. And yes, Mycroft hated it when Greg was working three days straight and didn’t have time to see him. But they always shared a kiss when it was over, always smiled at each other and held hands as they headed out.

It was definitely weird; _Mycroft_ was definitely weird. He basically knew everything, could speak six languages, and always knew what Greg was thinking. Sometimes the DI didn’t even bother answering Mycroft’s questions, just looked at his boyfriend and Mycroft would say, ‘Italian, then.’

Mycroft took Greg to the movies and opera and ballet and concerts and quiet dinners and whatever Greg wanted. They spent hours just kissing and giggling and having fun. There was the occasional argument, disagreement, when one or both was too stubborn to take back their words.

But it always ended with a kiss and smile.

Because they worked together, they worked in each other’s lives. Neither man ever wanted it to end. The relationship was amazing and brilliant and weird and fun and...

It was the best thing that had ever happened to either of them.


	11. Step Eleven: Taking That Amazing Man to Bed

They had been dating eight months before Greg brought up sex. Though they’d spent hours rutting against each other and kissing, Mycroft had never moved things to the bedroom. Greg had hinted in lingering kisses and soft hands and raised eyebrows but Mycroft always left before the DI could ask. And he never asked Greg to his flat; everything was done at Greg’s, on his couch and in his kitchen.

Finally, eight months in, Greg _had_ to ask. He had to know what type of sex Mycroft was interested in. Though Greg would like penetration, he was happy to stick to frottage, blow jobs, and hand jobs.

‘So...’ Greg said slowly, ‘are we ever going to have sex?’

Mycroft knocked his wine glass over. Thankfully it was empty and Greg picked it up.

‘We don’t have to,’ Greg said slowly, ‘not all gay couples penetrate each other but... I’d very much like to, Mycroft.’

‘Y-You would?’ Mycroft stuttered, gulping and looking at Greg with wide-eyes.

‘Of course,’ Greg said. ‘If you aren’t interested in that we don’t have to. I’m happy to just touch each other.’

‘No, I want... I want to...’ he trailed off at the end and looked away.

‘So...?’ Greg prompted.

‘I’m... nervous,’ Mycroft admitted.

‘Why? You’re not a virgin...’ he paused and looked Mycroft over, ‘are you?’

‘What? No, I was married.’

‘Yeah but like I said, not all gay couples–’

‘I’m not a virgin, Gregory.’

‘So you’ve had–’

‘Sex, yes, I have.’

Greg paused before asking, ‘Anal sex?’

Mycroft blushed and looked away but said, ‘Yes, I have.’

‘Bottom as well as top?’

‘Y-Yes.’

‘Okay,’ Greg nodded, ‘so what’s the problem?’

‘I’ve never liked my body and sex... the other person sees me naked.’

Greg sighed. ‘You’re beautiful, Mycroft.’

‘No I’m not.’

Greg took his hand and gave Mycroft’s fingers a squeeze. ‘Yes you are, Myc. You are to me. I like your body, trust me, and I’d love to see what you look like under those suits. But only when you’re ready, okay?’

Slowly Mycroft looked up at him. After a minute he gulped again and nodded.

‘’Kay,’ Greg smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Mycroft’s lips. ‘DVD?’

‘Please,’ Mycroft said.

That night Mycroft held Greg close, snuggling into his body and twining their fingers together. Greg smiled.

 

{oOo}

 

It was another month before Mycroft said he was ready. Greg took his hand and led him to the bedroom, Mycroft looking nervous and pale as Greg sat him down.

Greg quickly set about making Mycroft feel relaxed by kissing him softly, slowly letting Mycroft’s tongue into his mouth and humming in enjoyment. Soon he was pushing Mycroft onto the bed, going slow to give Mycroft the chance to pull back if he wanted to stop.

Mycroft didn’t and Greg kept going, pulling at the buttons of Mycroft’s shirt. He got it free and looked down, taking a minute to admire the fabulous body Mycroft kept hidden beneath three-piece suits.

The man was gorgeous, there was no other word. His chest hair was ginger and went from his chest down to his bellybutton and further. His skin was pale and freckled, goose-bumps rising when Greg slipped the man’s shirt off.

Greg kissed his way across Mycroft’s chest, taking a nipple between his lips and sucking back. Mycroft groaned and fisted his hands in Greg’s hair, thrusting his crotch up in an aim to get some kind of friction.

Greg pulled at Mycroft’s belt slowly until he had it undone. ‘Raise your hips.’

Mycroft hesitated before complying, lifting his arse off the bed so Greg could get his pants down. He palmed the bulge in Mycroft’s underwear, Mycroft once again groaning and pushing himself up.

‘Gregory...’

‘Do you want me to stop?’

‘N-No.’

Greg didn’t, rubbing a few more times before stripping Mycroft of his underwear. He stood back to get undressed, figuring Mycroft would be more comfortable with both of them naked. Mycroft looked up at him with lust-blown eyes, panting despite the fact they hadn’t done anything.

‘Greg...’

‘What?’

‘You’re beautiful.’

Greg smiled and climbed onto the bed, pressing his naked body to Mycroft’s. ‘ _You’re_ beautiful.’

Mycroft smiled hesitantly before leaning up to kiss Greg, lips soft and nervous.

They kissed for a few minutes before Greg was grabbing condoms and a bottle of lubricant. He dropped a rubber onto the bed and said, ‘Shift up.’

Mycroft did, letting his head fall against the pillows. He bit his lip as he watched Greg pour liquid onto his hand.

He put the lube bottle back on the bedside table and moved between Mycroft’s legs.

‘I’ll stop if you want me to, okay?’

Mycroft nodded and let Greg spread his legs, shivering when Greg rubbed at his entrance.

‘Alright?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded again. He bit his lip harder and closed his eyes, groaning when Greg pushed a finger in. Greg stopped when he was buried up to the knuckle.

‘Mycroft?’

‘I’m fine,’ Mycroft insisted.

Greg thrust in and out slowly, giving Mycroft a few minutes to adjust. He was so hot and tight, Greg using all his will power to not fuck Mycroft right then and there.

‘Can I add another finger?’

‘Yes.’ Mycroft groaned loudly when Greg buried two fingers into him. ‘I'm fine,’ he said when Greg stopped. ‘Keep going, please.’

Greg smiled and thrust in and out, adding another finger and twisting them to find Mycroft’s prostate.

‘Holy fucking hell,’ Mycroft groaned, now pushing down to try and get Greg’s fingers deeper in.

‘Good?’ Greg asked.

‘Again, please,’ Mycroft begged.

Greg chuckled and bent his fingers again, Mycroft groaning and bringing a hand up to touch his cock. He moaned louder and pushed down again, now fisting his shaft.

‘Can I fuck you now?’ Greg asked, the sight of Mycroft touching himself going right to his cock.

‘God, yes!’

Greg smiled and withdrew his fingers. He pulled the condom on, slathering his cock in lube before moving closer. Mycroft watched him carefully, sucking in a breath when the head of Greg’s cock poked at his entrance.

‘I’ll stop if you say so, Mycroft.’

‘Okay.’

Greg pushed in slowly, both men groaning at the feeling. He stopped when he was fully inside, giving his boyfriend a minute to adjust.

‘You alright?’ Greg asked, rubbing his hands along Mycroft’s thighs softly.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded. ‘You can move.’

Greg started a soft thrust, only pulling out halfway before going back in. He watched Mycroft carefully for any signs that he wanted to stop but when he gave none Greg started moving a bit faster, pulling all the way out before going back in.

Mycroft was moaning now, pulling at his cock and squeezing his eyes shut. Greg moved so he could kiss Mycroft as he fucked him, lips hot and heavy as they licked into each other’s mouths.

It was soft and slow and lovely and hot and everything Greg wanted it to be. Mycroft moaned against his lips, hand coming up to pull on his cock. They went for at least half-an-hour, the soft thrusts meaning it took time for both men to come.

When they did they did so loudly, Greg burying himself harder and harder into Mycroft as he approached a climax. Mycroft bit at his lips, rolling his hips to meet each of Greg’s thrusts. Suddenly he tightened around the DI, squeezed his cock, and swore as he came, spilling across his stomach and hand.

The tightness, the heat, the sight of Mycroft coming, pushed Greg over the edge. He came with a shout, emptying himself into Mycroft and hips grinding to a halt.

He slipped out slowly, pulling the condom off and dropping it on the bedside table. He had a washcloth ready and rubbed Mycroft’s stomach clean before making the man move. Both climbed under the covers and Mycroft wrapped himself around Greg, humming and nuzzling into the DI’s neck.

‘Gregory?’ Mycroft breathed after a few minutes.

‘Mm?’

‘Thank you.’

‘No worries.’

‘That was... amazing, the best sex I’ve ever had.’

Greg chuckled and kissed Mycroft’s forehead. ‘Thank _you_ , Mycroft.’

Mycroft smiled and closed his eyes.


	12. Step Twelve: Life With Mycroft Holmes II

Greg loved everything about Mycroft. He loved the breakfasts when Mycroft would blush over his toast, looking down to stare at his plate, Greg chuckling.

He loved the lunches, when Mycroft would visit him at work with a bag of takeaway. They’d sit at the DI’s desk, swapping food, chatting, and kissing softly. Sometimes he met Mycroft at _his_ office, the room filled with books and files and top secret government things that Greg wasn’t allowed to see.

He loved the dinners, either at a fancy restaurant, a small restaurant, the DI’s flat or Mycroft’s own. They’d grin at each other over their food, hands meeting across or under the table, exchanging soft kisses when they thought no one was looking.

Greg loved the walks in the park or on the street, Mycroft now taking his hand without hesitation, linking their fingers and squeezing gently. He loved it when Mycroft thought they were alone and drew the DI in, bodies pressed together and lips meeting softly.

Sometimes they went for long drives, just going nowhere in particular for lunch or dinner. They held hands if they took Mycroft’s driver or one touched the other as they drove, the driver usually tutting and saying they couldn’t concentrate. That didn’t make either of them stop.

They spent a lot of time just sitting on the couch watching DVDs, TV, or reading. Mostly Mycroft read, head in Greg’s lap as the DI watched Doctor Who or some other show Mycroft wasn’t interested in. Greg would play with Mycroft’s hair or stroke his cheek, the politician smiling as he flicked through the pages of whatever large book he was reading that night. It always ended with a soft kiss and bed, sometimes sex.

The sex... it was amazing, it was just another part of Mycroft to love. Sometimes it was soft, warm, loving, both men taking time to explore each other’s bodies and bring amazing amounts of pleasure to each other. Sometimes it was hard and heavy and quick, one of them fucking the other until they came all over the bed or couch of kitchen counter... and sometimes the shower. That was Greg’s idea and Mycroft rather enjoyed it.

They just fit together and into each other’s lives. They were very different men, had grown up differently and lived their lives differently. But together they worked.

Together they were happy.


	13. Step Thirteen: He’s In Love With That Man

Greg wondered if he was in love with Mycroft one day when the politician turned up at his flat after a very long week. Greg was spent both physically and emotionally, the case having torn at his heart harder than any other.

Suddenly Mycroft was just there and Greg broke down, crying and falling into Mycroft to grip his expensive jacket. Mycroft just shut the door and pulled Greg to the bedroom, making him climb under the covers.

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft and cried, the politician soothing him and stroking his hair, mumbling none-important things under his breath.

Right then Greg wondered if he was in love with Mycroft Holmes. Because the man was amazing.

 

{oOo}

 

Greg thought he was in love with Mycroft when the politician brought him dinner at work. He’d been going 43 hours straight and was feeling run down.

And there was Mycroft, smiling and holding a bag of takeaway. They pushed the DI’s files aside and Mycroft set everything up, turning to ask if Greg was okay.

He thought it right then and there but just smiled and said, ‘I am now.’

Mycroft smiled back.

 

{oOo}

 

There was the moment that Greg knew it but couldn’t say it, not yet. Mycroft was wrapped around him after a loving round of sex, the politician nuzzling into his neck, and pressing soft kisses to the heated skin.

Greg looked down at him; at his soft hair and perfect lips and bright blue eyes and gorgeous body.

He knew it but he couldn’t say it. So he kissed Mycroft softly and closed his eyes, Mycroft falling asleep with him.

 

{oOo}

 

And then there was the moment Greg said it. He and Mycroft were sitting in the park, Greg with an arm around Mycroft, Mycroft leaning into him. Both were smoking and Mycroft drew back on his cigarette with those perfect lips. Greg knew it without a doubt and had to say it.

‘I love you.’

Mycroft froze before turning to look at him. ‘Pardon?’

‘I love you,’ Greg repeated.

Mycroft blinked before smiling shyly. ‘Really?’

‘Yup.’

‘Th-Thank you.’

Greg smiled back. ‘You’re welcome.’

 

{oOo}

 

And then, finally, there was the moment when Mycroft said it back.

‘I love you,’ he stated, sitting across the table from Greg, fork poised over his plate.

Greg looked at him. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yes, most definitely,’ Mycroft nodded.

Greg grinned. ‘I love you too.’

Mycroft grinned back.


	14. Step Fourteen: It’s Time To Celebrate

Mycroft Holmes turned up in a limo to take Greg out for their one year anniversary. Greg chuckled and locked his door. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

‘Ravish me?’ Mycroft suggested.

Greg grinned and stepped down to kiss Mycroft softly. ‘I just might.’

‘Hmm,’ Mycroft mumbled against his lips. ‘Feel free to.’

Greg chuckled and drew back. ‘So, where to?’

‘Restaurant,’ Mycroft said and pulled him to the limo. Inside he handed Greg a single rose.

‘God, you’re amazing,’ Greg said and kissed him again.

‘I know,’ Mycroft said.

‘Humble much?’

Mycroft just smiled.

 

{oOo}

 

They ate fat, juicy steaks and drank expensive, delicious wine. They chatted and laughed and rubbed each other under the table. They shared dessert and giggled and licked cream from each other’s mouths.

They took a stroll around London, hands together, occasionally stopping to press their lips together. They took in a late movie, making out like teenagers in the back.

They went back to Mycroft’s where there were candles and wine and soft music playing. The sex was soft, loving, everything Greg and Mycroft needed.

When they fell apart hours later, Mycroft mumbled, ‘You did it.’

‘Did what?’ Greg asked.

‘Ravished me.’

Greg giggled and tugged the blanket over their heads, shifting down to kiss Mycroft softly. ‘I love you, Myc. Happy anniversary; thank you so much, this night was perfect.’

Mycroft blushed. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

Mycroft kissed him back. ‘Happy anniversary, Gregory. I love you.’

The sex wasn’t soft. But Greg _did_ ravish Mycroft again. And Mycroft loved it.


	15. Step Fifteen: Living With the Government

It was Mycroft who took the next step, asking Greg to move in with him fifteen months into their relationship. Greg looked at him over breakfast.

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded. ‘I was thinking we could find a flat together.’ Suddenly he was blushing. ‘Unless you don’t want to, of course.’

Greg chuckled and stood. He moved around the table and draped his arms over Mycroft’s shoulders, kissing him softly.

‘Yes, Mycroft, I’ll move in with you.’

‘Really?’ Mycroft asked, grinning.

‘Yup.’

Mycroft kissed him softly.

 

{oOo}

 

They found a flat in the middle of the city, close to Scotland Yard and not too far from Mycroft’s office. Well, could it be called a flat when Mycroft bought the entire top floor of the building?

‘Myc–’

‘You love it and I want to make you happy,’ Mycroft told him, circling his arms around Greg’s waist. He put his head on Greg’s shoulder and whispered, ‘Let me, please.’

Greg bit his lip but smiled and twisted to kiss Mycroft quickly. ‘M’kay.’

Mycroft grinned. ‘Excellent.’

Who could argue with the British Government?

 

{oOo}

 

They had a walk-in closet that Mycroft would stand in for half-an-hour, staring at his massive collection of clothes and trying to pick out a suit. Greg would tut and point to one, which would make Mycroft tut, which would make Greg poke out his tongue, which would make Mycroft murmur, ‘Childish, love.’

And Greg would kiss him, all would be forgiven, and Mycroft would pick a suit, getting dressed slowly while Greg shouldered into the first thing he found.

They had an en-suite bathroom that Mycroft spent a good hour in, standing in front of the mirror and washing his face, brushing his hair, making sure his skin and eyebrows and teeth and everything was perfect. He’d adjust his cuffs, smooth down his lapels, and straighten his tie.

Greg would spit toothpaste into the sink, scrub his mouth, and run a hand through his hair. Mycroft would smile and draw him in, commenting that Greg was the perfect boyfriend.

‘Why?’ Greg asked, again running a hand through his hair and messing it up even more.

‘Because,’ Mycroft said and have him a quick kiss.

They shared a study, the room big enough for Mycroft’s bookcases, two large desks and a few filing cabinets. Often Mycroft would come home, drop his keys by the door and walk across the flat to find Greg in there, bent over a new case and twirling a pen between his fingers.

Mycroft would often lean against the doorframe and watch for a few minutes. He’d just stare at Greg, at his hair and body and the way he held a pen like a cigarette. It would be a few minutes before Greg looked up, jolting in his seat before smiling when he saw it was Mycroft.

‘Hello.’

‘Hi,’ Greg smiled. ‘Wanna grab some food?’

Mycroft smiled back. ‘Only if you’re there.’

A lot of times Greg woke up at two or three in the morning to find Mycroft’s side of the bed empty. He’d yawn and shuffle out in his dressing gown, finding Mycroft busy on the phone or scribbling furiously on top secret documents and not stopping until Greg pulled him up and made him rest.

When they were both home for dinner, they’d sit on the couch and put the plates on their laps, Greg with his legs curled under him, Mycroft with one crossed over the other. They would keep their shoulders pressed together, smiling and exchanging food if they were eating takeaway, sharing bowls of ice cream and licking chocolate sauce from each other’s lips.

They had sex in their shared bed, Mycroft groaning and wrapping his legs around Greg’s waist, his arms around the DI’s back. He’d thread his fingers through Greg’s hair and hug him tighter, exchanging sloppy, wet kisses as Greg fucked him into an orgasm.

Greg would drop to press his head to the mattress, pushing back to meet each of Mycroft’s thrusts and shouting when Mycroft grabbed his cock. When Greg was spent, on his stomach and panting heavily, Mycroft would turn him over and Greg would kiss him softly, panting into his mouth before smiling.

‘I love you, Gregory,’ Mycroft would say softly.

‘Love... you...’ Greg would yawn and snuggle into his boyfriend.

There were a lot of nights spent sleeping alone, of Mycroft falling asleep at his desk in their study because he didn’t see the point of sleeping in an empty bed, not now that he had Greg. Sometimes Greg would come home from a long two days to find Mycroft curled up on the couch, hugging Greg’s pillow and muttering in his sleep.

Greg would wake him with a soft kiss, Mycroft blinking away and smiling sleepily.

‘Come to bed, gorgeous,’ Greg would whisper and drag him up.

Greg often fell asleep at the Yard, waking up with a bad back, neck crack, and paper stuck to his forehead. When he made it home he slept on Mycroft’s side, curling up and pulling one of Mycroft’s shirts around him. He always wore Mycroft’s shirts on pyjamas or dressing gown when the politician was away for weeks.

When Mycroft got home he’d smile and shove Greg over before climbing into bed, wrapping his arms around the DI.

‘Missed you,’ Greg would mumble. ‘Took your shirt.’ He’d poke out his tongue and grin, half-asleep.

Mycroft would chuckle and kiss him warmly. ‘It looks better on you.’

‘Mm.’

When they went to bed together, arms around each other and soft kisses being exchanged, they’d just stare at each other and grin before falling asleep.


	16. Step Sixteen: Always Say Yes to Mycroft Holmes

Two years, four months, six days and two hours since his first date with Mycroft Holmes, Gregory Lestrade got home to candles, roses, a wonderful smell coming from the table, and Mycroft Holmes standing there, wearing jeans, a pressed silk shirt, with a single rose in his hand.

There were bunches on the kitchen table, coffee table, and counter, but somehow Mycroft handing Greg that one blood-red rose was more romantic then all the others combined.

‘What’s the occasion?’ Greg asked, smelling the rose before pulling Mycroft in for a kiss.

‘Do I have to have a reason for cooking my boyfriend his favourite meal?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg snorted. ‘You always have a reason, Mycroft Holmes.’

Mycroft just grinned and pulled out Greg’s chair.

 

{oOo}

 

They ate dinner over the course of two hours, often stopping to kiss and stroke each other. Mycroft kept having to push Greg back, forcing the DI to eat the rest of his food.

‘I’m done!’ Greg shouted and pushed his empty plate aside. ‘Sex now?’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Is sex all you think about?’

‘It is when I see you in jeans,’ Greg said, turning to look at the dark denim Mycroft was wearing. ‘You have _no_ idea how good your legs look in jeans.’

Mycroft just tutted and stood.

‘And your arse.’

‘Gregory.’ Greg smiled and went to stand but Mycroft pushed him down. He raised an eyebrow and Mycroft said, ‘Greg, you make me happier than anyone ever has.’

‘I know.’

Mycroft chuckled. ‘I fell in love with you the moment we met, however I fear you didn’t feel the same way.’

Greg giggled. ‘No, definitely not. I threatened to knock you out the second time we met.’

Mycroft smiled and took Greg’s hands, pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. ‘It took me too long to admit that I loved you.’

‘We got there in the end,’ Greg smiled.

‘I love you more than words can possibly say,’ Mycroft said. ‘Every single second we get to spend together is better than the last. Gregory...’ he trailed off to reach into his pocket and Greg gasped when Mycroft pulled out a ring box. Slowly, Mycroft got down on one knee and flipped it open to reveal a white-gold and silver ring, the pattern wavy and beautiful. ‘Greg, will you marry me?’

Greg flew at him, knocking Mycroft to the floor. He kissed him heatedly, rutting against Mycroft and groaning.

‘G-Greg?’

Greg grinned and pulled back to cup Mycroft’s face. He kissed him slowly and said, ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’

Mycroft grinned and made Greg roll onto his back. He took the ring from the box before slipping it onto Greg’s wedding finger. He smiled and pulled Greg in for a kiss.

‘I love you. Thank you so much.’

Greg chuckled and kissed him back. ‘So...’ he said a minute later, Mycroft looking at him. ‘Floor sex?’

Mycroft grinned. ‘You read my mind.’


	17. Step Seventeen: The Case of Mummy Holmes

Greg was feeling nervous. Not about his relationship with Mycroft, no, no that was pretty solid. And no, he wasn’t nervous about marrying another man or even marrying this particularly weird one that he’d fallen in love with.

No, Gregory Lestrade, DI, man who could put up with Sherlock Holmes, man who had been married and divorced before, a man who had _killed_ before, was nervous because he was meeting Mummy.

Mummy Holmes.

Annette Holmes.

The mother of his husband-to-be...

MUMMY!

It’s not that Mycroft had painted an ugly picture of her. He said she was fine, she was sweet, she didn’t care that her eldest was gay, that her youngest was... well, whatever Sherlock decided to be that day or week or year. She was... lovely, really.

So why was Greg nervous?

Sherlock.

Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Mother Fucking Holmes.

He’d cornered Greg in his and Mycroft’s flat. They were all driving up to stay a few days with her (poor John included) and Sherlock had told Greg that if he didn’t impress Mummy, if he didn’t meet Mummy’s standards, there was no way in hell he and Mycroft would marry.

‘Why?’ Greg asked, pushing the consulting detective back.

But Sherlock was strong when he wanted to be and held his ground, towering over Greg by a good two or so inches. ‘Mummy will make it her mission to get you away from Mycroft if she doesn’t like you. She’s always been picky about our partners especially since Mycroft’s divorce.’ He licked his lips then, slowly, like a predator wanting to hunt Greg down. ‘Just... make sure you try, Lestrade,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you going anywhere.’

And then he was gone, leaving a very confused DI behind.

So yes, Greg was nervous as Mycroft’s car pulled up outside Holmes Manor (Manor? It was a mansion, as big as a department store, bigger than any house Greg could ever hope to afford even if he worked forty billion years) and turned it off.

‘You’ll be fine, Gregory,’ Mycroft said softly, leaning over to take his hand. Sherlock and John were asleep in the back so Greg turned to look at Mycroft.

‘Are you sure? She’s not going to hate me?’

Mycroft sighed. ‘Has Sherlock been telling you things?’

‘Maybe...’

‘Ignore him.’

‘Yeah, ’cause I solve cases by ignoring Sherlock Holmes.’

‘This isn’t a case,’ Mycroft said.

Greg managed a smile. ‘Yeah, yeah, sorry; I’ll be right.’

Mycroft smiled and leaned over to give him a soft kiss before climbing out.

 

{oOo}

 

Mummy Holmes was tall like her sons with blue-grey eyes and ginger-brown hair. Really she was the perfect mix between her boys; skinny like both of them, high cheekbones that she passed onto Sherlock, ginger-brown hair the same shade as Mycroft’s and same curliness as Sherlock’s.

She smiled and hugged her boys before glancing over Greg and John, giving the two men that famous Holmes "I’m-deducing-everything-about-you" look.

And then there were smiles. And tea. And scones and jam and embarrassing stories about all four men, Greg for some reason admitting to the time he’d run down his own street naked when he was fourteen ’cause he’d been dared to. And that time John had agreed to kiss another soldier in Afghanistan ’cause the girls were bored. Mycroft got off lightly, only two childhood naked stories to his name.

Sherlock had been a nightmare. Naked for a month when he was three, four months when he was nine, and an entire two days spent naked locked in the bathroom when he was seventeen and refused to go to university. And then there were the mood swings and days spent speaking only French and the time he’d dyed his hair blonde. John asked for pictures and Sherlock scowled.

Mummy Holmes wanted what was best for her sons. She wanted them to be happy and healthy. She cornered Greg just before dinner that first night and interrogated him; what were his intentions, could he take care of Mycroft, did he love him?

Greg intended to marry Mycroft and spend the rest of their lives together with kids and everything. Of course he could take care of Mycroft, he already did; he made sure Mycroft ate and slept and didn’t over-work. Greg loved Mycroft and he always would. Mycroft was everything to Greg and the DI would try his hardest to make Mycroft as happy as Mycroft had made him.

Mummy Holmes smiled at that and kissed Greg on both cheeks. ‘I like you, Greg. Don’t make me change my mind.’

And then she was off, dramatic swirl of her skirt as she did, and Greg knew the Holmes brothers got their love of theatrics from Annette.

 

{oOo}

 

When they left two days later, Mummy hugged Mycroft close and whispered, ‘I like him, My.’

Mycroft grinned and kissed his mother goodbye. On the drive home and linked his fingers with Greg’s and squeezed gently.

Greg grinned back.


	18. Step Eighteen: Let’s Meet the Lestrades

The Lestrades consisted of two parents, Peter and Eva Lestrade, two brothers, Dexter and David, two sisters, Jesse and Emma, three brother-in-laws, Morgan, Patrick and Eoin, a sister-in-law, Penny, four nephews, Kevin, Rhys, Logan and Timothy, and finally two nieces, Annabelle and Rachel.

Mycroft had Sherlock and Mummy, that’s it. His father had died when he was twelve and neither sets of grandparents had ever been part of the picture. There were no uncles or aunts or cousins or... anything.

Greg had a massive family by Mycroft’s standards and all were very accepting of the politician. Greg’s eldest brother, Dexter, was gay and married to a lovely banker named Eoin. They were looking at adoption or surrogacy and gave Greg tips as they sat around eating, Dex shouting that he knew Greg had always favoured men.

David was younger then Greg by three years but looked exactly like him, right down to the grey hair and tanned skin. He and his wife Penny spoke highly of marriage but had their complaints. Of course Greg had been married before but he allowed his family to give him advice, rolling his eyes when he thought no one was watching.

Jesse and Emma were three and four years younger than Greg and had their mother’s flaming red hair and green eyes. They pestered Mycroft for information on their brother, asking about his gayer habits. By the end of the night Greg was beetroot red and cursing into his beer.

They kids were insane and talkative and everything Mycroft hated about kids. But they loved Greg and watching his fiancé with them, watching how Greg talked about music with Logan and Timothy, skating with Kevin and Rhys, and boys with Annabelle and Rachel, Mycroft knew without a doubt that Gregory Lestrade would make a very good father.

Mycroft hoped he would too.

They ate and talked and told embarrassing stories. When they finally left, Mycroft hauled Greg in for a long and very passionate kiss, not caring if anybody was watching.

‘Not that I’m complaining,’ Greg gasped when they finally broke apart, ‘but what was that for?’

‘Your family is wonderful.’

Greg smiled. ‘How is that because of me?’

‘Just accept the compliment.’

Greg chuckled and gave Mycroft a quick kiss before pulling him away, glad Mycroft liked his family.


	19. Step Nineteen: Becoming Mr Gregory Lestrade-Holmes

Though they were both men, Mycroft insisted he was legally changing his last name to Holmes-Lestrade. Yes, at work he’d still be Mycroft Holmes, but at home, with family and friends and on his driver’s licence, he wanted to be Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade.

Greg couldn’t have been happier and filled out his own paperwork, the ones that would legally make his name Gregory Lestrade-Holmes. His mother was less than thrilled that he was taking Mycroft’s name but she was happy all the same; happy her son had found someone to love.

Greg left Mycroft to plan everything and they settled for a wedding in autumn; the leaves changing colour at Holmes Manor, the grass vibrant and green from a hot summer. They married at sunset, Anthea officiating because apparently that woman could do anything. They joined hands beneath a dark blue tent, family and friends grinning behind them as Anthea pronounced them husbands and they exchanged rings. The kiss was a little inappropriate for public and Sherlock, as Mycroft’s best man, took it upon himself to throw something at his brother. John was Greg’s best man and took it upon _himself_ to drag his weirdo husband (they’d eloped) off into the crowd.

There was food and cake, Mycroft blushing when Greg licked it from his lips. Mycroft was talked into playing piano, Greg nearly crying at the beautiful music his new husband could play. Sherlock joined in on his violin and once, just once, with music and family all around, Sherlock and Mycroft got along and smiled.

Of course it was all over when Sherlock started a food fight. But then again, he’s Sherlock and they’d expected it.

What they didn’t expect was Sherlock crying as Mycroft drew Greg close and smiled at him. When asked about the tears Sherlock scowled and mumbled (yes, mumbled), ‘There’s something in my eye.’ Nobody believed him and Sherlock spent the following hour getting drunk and pouting under a table.

They danced together, Mycroft twirling Greg around the dance floor like the expert leading man he was. He let Greg lead the slow dances, happy to have his arms around Greg’s neck, placing soft kisses to his cheek and humming in his husband’s ear.

They first had sex as a legally married couple in the kitchen, Greg bending Mycroft over the counter to fuck him from behind. They’d locked the doors but that didn’t stop John Watson from accidently stumbling in through a side door, shouting and covering his eyes.

‘Sorry, sorry, but Mrs Holmes is talking about children and...’ he trailed off and shook his head, groping for the door as Greg and Mycroft stared at him. ‘Sorry.’

He backed out quickly and Greg groaned.

‘Greg?’

‘What?’ he sighed.

Mycroft turned to smile at him. ‘Please continue.’

Greg chuckled and slid back in.

 

{oOo}

 

The guests went home, Sherlock draped over John’s shoulders and slurring that he was quite proud of his brother and happy from him and Greg. He was definitely drunk. Presents were put into the car, Greg and Mycroft all over each other in the backseat.

That night Mycroft pulled Greg close and kissed him softly. ‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Thank you for making me so happy, Gregory.’

‘No worries, Mr Lestrade.’

Mycroft chuckled and kissed him again. ‘You’re welcome, Mr Holmes.’


	20. Step Twenty: Honeymooning Holmes Style

They spent a month in Sydney, Australia, because Greg had always wanted to go. The hotel was close to Manly Beach, their room massive and expensive and... well, Mycroft never did anything by halves.

They woke to breakfast in bed every day, spending their mornings afterwards on the balcony enjoying the early spring and heat Sydney was enjoying. It got amazingly hot by midday and they went to the beach where Greg learned Mycroft Holmes burned no matter how much sunscreen he used. He took to carrying his umbrella, only leaving it when he entered the water.

Greg would pull him in close as they swam between the flags, ignoring the locals screaming and splashing around them. Tasting lotion and sand and salt water on Mycroft’s lips was one of the best experiences of Greg’s life.

They’d go back at night after a light dinner, walking across the sand hand-in-hand and grinning at each other as they watched the sun set.

They took in movies at the cinema on George Street, watched plays at the Wharf Theatre and sipped champagne on Harbour cruises. They fucked each other silly on the balcony, on the couch, on the table and in the large bed.

They smiled stupidly at each other and kissed and fell asleep in each others arms.

And it was perfect.


	21. Step Twenty-One: Life With Mycroft Holmes III

Their lives didn’t change much when they got back. They ate breakfast, lunch or dinner together when they could. They read and watched movies when they could. They went out on dates and had sex and texted or called each other when they were busy.

But Greg would never forget that Mycroft Holmes (or Mycroft Holmes-Lestrade as he introduced himself when with Greg) was his husband. That amazing, brilliant, weird man was Greg’s and Greg’s only.

There were arguments, yeah. The couple fought when Mycroft didn’t sleep for three days or skipped every meal because he was working or thought he was gaining weight. There were arguments when Greg worked himself ragged trying to find a killer and wouldn’t take five minutes to have a break.

But they always made up. Foul words and cancelled dates and nights spent on the couch couldn’t change the fact that they loved each other.

They’d been through a lot and would no doubt face more hurdles in the future.

But they were in love.

And that’s what mattered.


	22. Step Twenty-Two: Working Hard

Greg’s day usually started when there was a murder... or when Mycroft got up early to leave for work. He’d groan into his phone and get the address before sitting up and staring as he sat on the edge of the bed, trying to wake up and talk himself into getting up.

If Mycroft was home he’d roll over in bed and sit up, pressing soft kisses to Greg’s neck.

‘Go back to sleep,’ Greg mumbled, yawning as he turned to kiss Mycroft properly.

‘I will when you leave,’ Mycroft replied, sliding his tongue against Greg’s and humming at the taste, the warmth.

Greg smiled and kissed him back softly before getting up to shower.

Mycroft was still awake, watching Greg silently as the DI dressed. He sat on the bed to pull on his shoes before leaning back to kiss his husband again.

‘Lunch?’ Mycroft asked when they broke apart.

‘I’ll try, just give me a call,’ Greg smiled. ‘Love you.’ He kissed Mycroft again and stood.

‘I love you, Gregory.’

Greg smiled and shut the bedroom door softly.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


He picked up coffee on the way before getting to the crime scene and looking everything over. Sally Donovan arrived a half-hour after him and Greg sent her to collect statements from the neighbours.

The murder seemed like every other one so Greg held off on calling Sherlock. After three hours in his office with no leads he gave in and phoned the genius.

What followed was seventeen hours of chasing Sherlock, chasing the criminal, chasing Sherlock and John, chasing the criminal and Sherlock _and_ John, visiting the hospital where John was laid up after catching a bullet to the shoulder (it was a minor scrape, but try telling that to an enraged consulting detective, and mind-numbling dull paperwork.

Sometimes, if Mycroft wasn't working, he'd drag Greg away from Scotland Yard for a late dinner and some kissing, maybe sex. Other times Greg would get a taxi home because Mycroft was busy doing God knows what.

This was one of those nights. He got home tired, annoyed, and hungry. He called a pizza because Mycroft wasn't home, a note from the politician stuck to the fridge;

  
  


_Work. I'll try and call when I can. Love you - M_

  
  


Greg sat in his boxers in front of the TV eating pizza, drinking beer, and hoping his husband was alright.

He slept there most of the time too, nodding off to Doctor Who or Torchwood or some other show that was blaring on the television. Sometimes Mycroft would wake him up and carry to bed. Most of the time Greg would wake up sore, tired, and with a text from Mycroft saying he loved him.

What Greg liked the most was when Mycroft got home. It didn't matter if it was the middle of the day and the politician whisked him away for lunch, or if it was the middle of the night when Greg was half asleep or working.

All that mattered was Mycroft appearing, a smile on his lips that melted Greg's heart. They'd kiss softly, exchange hellos, and just smile at each other.

Work was hard for both of them, yes. But as long as they were together in the end, that was all that mattered.


	23. Step Twenty-Three: Fighting With Mycroft Holmes

Like every couple, Mycroft and Greg fought. Were they in love? Yes. Did they like spending time together? Yes. Did they scream and hurl abuse at each other when something pissed them off? Well, of course they did.

When Mycroft was in a good mood, Greg's habits were adorable, tolerable, and what every man did. When he was in a bad mood Greg was careless, sloppy, a slob who left everything everywhere.

Yes, okay, Greg tended to leave clothes all over the place. And yeah, he didn't put books back or stack magazines on the coffee table. He had a habit of leaving mugs and plates on the table or in the sink.

But really, that was better then what _Mycroft_ did. Usually Greg didn't mind Mycroft's primness, the way he had to have everything exactly right. It was Mycroft, it was part of who he was. Unlike his brother, everything had to be exact.

When Mycroft was yelling at him for a mug being left on the counter for two days, Mycroft was anal. He was too uptight, a perfectionist, someone who had to take it easy or he'd have a heart attack.

They fought about food a lot. Mycroft was always on a diet and Greg had no idea why. The man was slim, in perfect health for someone his age. He had a stressful job but his blood pressure was normal (Anthea emailed him Mycroft's medical records so the DI could be certain his husband was okay). But still the man was on a diet.

Greg liked pizza and Chinese, he liked chocolate and cake and ice-cream. He didn't over-eat but he did eat a lot of fatty foods. But running around after criminals and Sherlock kept his waist trim. An early morning jog every Friday and Saturday morning kept him fit.

Mycroft didn't have time to jog and really the security that would have to be called in just for Mycroft to walk around the block was astounding. Mycroft didn't exercise so he ate healthy.

Greg broke him though, he always broke him. It didn't matter that Mycroft would yell at him for slipping extra chicken onto his plate. It didn't matter that Mycroft would fight tooth and nail to have boiled chicken instead of Chinese from the local takeaway.

Greg had something that no one else did, something that Mycroft couldn't say no to. He had the most gorgeous pout Mycroft had ever seen. So a simple pout here, a touch there, and Mycroft Holmes was eating fatty food.

It was hard to argue with your husband sitting on your lap feeding you spring rolls.


	24. Step Twenty-Four: Mycroft Holmes Wants Children

They hadn't talked about kids. Mycroft knew Greg wanted them. He was great with his nieces and nephews and he looked gorgeous holding a small child in his arms. Mycroft knew they had options; they could adopt and raise a child, or children, who didn't have any parents. They could use a surrogate and donate sperm, that way the child would at least be genetically related to one of them.

Mycroft had never wanted children. He'd never even considered it. He'd always been gay and his first husband hadn't wanted kids. Mycroft had a hard enough time taking care of Sherlock and running Britain without a child to think about.

But Greg had changed him so much. Mycroft was happier, he was loved, he had a beautiful husband who cared about him. Every morning Mycroft woke up, when he and Greg were both in bed, he'd just lay back and watch his husband sleep. Gregory, his Gregory, so beautiful even in middle age.

It was a cold morning when Mycroft sat against the headboard, one hand stroking a sleeping Greg's hair. He looked across the quiet room and realised it was missing something.

A small child, bouncing on the mattress and waking them up. A small child with blue or brown eyes, maybe even another colour. A child that looked like one of them, or one that was completely different because they'd adopted.

Mycroft wanted children.

He turned and tugged Greg over, the DI groaning and swatting at him.

'Gregory?'

'Do wha' you want, just lemme sleep.'

Mycroft smiled and pressed a kiss to Greg's cheek. 'I prefer you to be awake when we have sex, love.'

Greg groaned again and cracked one eye open. 'Wha'?'

'I want children.'

'Mm... wanna try now?'

Mycroft shook his head. 'Be serious, Gregory.'

'I am, we can always try, who knows,' Greg teased and moved closer. His morning erection pressed into Mycroft's and made the politician shiver.

'Gregory, I-'

Greg shut him up with a kiss.

An hour later, lying curled against each other, Greg looked up at his husband. 'You want children?'

'Very much so.'

'M'kay.'

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


'I hear Anthea's pregnant, congratulations,' John said as Mycroft twirled his umbrella.

The older man accepted the mug John had handed him and said, 'Thank you.'

'Did you have sex with her?' Sherlock queried. He grumbled when John smacked him.

'No,' Mycroft smiled, 'we donated sperm.'

'Both of you?' John asked.

Mycroft nodded. 'It raised the chances of Anthea falling pregnant. We won't know who's the biological father until the baby is born.'

'That doesn't matter,' John said, 'you're both the father, regardless of genetics.'

'I hope the baby's like Mycroft,' Sherlock said, suddenly looking excited. He bounced into a sitting position and said, 'Imagine another genius, Mycroft? I could teach him experiments.'

John groaned and Mycroft snorte.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mycroft was half annoying, half sweet during Anthea's pregnancy. The woman had agreed to be their surrogate because she loved her boss, and Greg was a great bloke. She wanted to help and carrying a baby for nine months seemed small in comparison to what Mycroft had done for her.

She moved into their flat temporarily so Mycroft wouldn't have her stalked with security (he did anyway). Greg helped her with her mood swings and cravings, Mycroft mostly made those worse by randomly spouting facts about the baby.

Mycroft took to hiding when Anthea was in a mood.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


July 8th at 10:43am, Mycroft and Greg welcomed Michael Gregory Lestrade-Holmes into the world. He was nine pounds and had a tuft of red-brown hair and warm brown eyes. It was clear he would take after Mycroft, but his eyes were all Anthea.

Sherlock was ecstatic to have a nephew and bounced around like he was high. His mood was contagious and Mycroft, Greg, John and Anthea were all grinning soon enough.

They had visitors, all of whom bought baby gifts and flowers for Anthea. Mrs Hudson baked a large tin of cookies that Mycroft ate when no one was looking. Sally Donovan bought a onesie with police cars printed on it. She gave Anthea some flowers and the PA thanked her.

Anderson turned up with a plush dinosaur toy and Sherlock made fun of him. Greg thanked him though, it was a nice gesture.

Molly cooed over the baby and said he was adorable. Dimmock commented that the baby better not take after Sherlock. He received a fair few death stares.

Michael had everyone wrapped around his little finger and he was barely a day old. Sherlock claimed that if anyone hurt him he'd kill them himself and John agreed. Mycroft told Sherlock he'd have to fight him; if anyone touched his son they'd be dead within a day.

Greg just smiled as he held his son. 'You've got the Holmes men, little one.'

Michael blinked at him.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


They finally got him home. Sherlock refused to leave and slept in a guest room, John heading back to 221B because he had work the next morning. Anthea was dead to the world in the room next door to Mycroft and Greg's, the nursery between them.

Mycroft and Greg stood in the dark room watching Michael sleep. Greg wrapped his arms around his husband's waist and sighed.

'What?' Mycroft asked.

'I want another one,' Greg admitted.

'That's fine by me,' Mycroft told him.

They kissed softly, their son sleeping peacefully.


	25. Step Twenty-Five: Life With Mycroft Holmes IV

Michael was a terror. He refused to sleep for more then four hours and was hungry all the time. He cried whenever Mycroft left the room and took to staring at the dinosaur toy Anderson had bought him.

Greg tried his hardest to get his son to quieten down when he woke in the middle of the night. He, Mycroft and Anthea took it in turns to feed Michael. Anthea wasn't breast-feeding but decided to stick around and help out the new parents.

No matter what Greg did, Michael would scream. Feeding him didn't work, burping just made him cry harder, and Greg was beginning to think he really hated the dinosaur toy. He tried other toys but Michael hated dogs, cats, monkeys, everything. Greg was beginning to worry that Michael hated him too.

All it took was two seconds for Mycroft to calm their son down. He'd appear at Greg's shoulder, take the baby in his arms, and hum under his breath. Michael would go quiet and fall asleep instantly.

It depressed Greg to no end. What was he doing wrong? Was it because Michael, with his ginger-brown hair, was clearly Mycroft's biological son? Or did Michael just hate him?

Mycroft tried to calm him down, Michael was just a few weeks old, after all. It didn't help though. Greg feared his son would never love him.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


Mikey was eight months old when Greg came across a website that made baby toys. He was... let's call it working, when he found the website. He smiled and typed in a few things before ordering. Mikey still hated all his toys and Mycroft was emptying his bank account trying to find something their son would love.

A week later the order came and Greg and Mycroft sat in the nursery. Anthea had gone home and they were alone in the giant flat. Mikey was in his favourite spot; Mycroft's lap.

Greg opened the box and went through the toys. He tried a large green wolf first (Mikey seemed to love all things green). The baby stared at it before crying and Greg quickly put the toy away. A koala followed with the same results, and so did half a dozen other toys. They struck gold when Mikey giggled at a kangaroo toy. But the winner was a thirty centimetre long umbrella.

It was a plush toy, made of nylon and cotton. It was a miniture toy version of the umbrella Mycroft carried, complete with black colouring and bamboo handle (though the toy's was made of cotton).

Mikey squealed in delight and made a grab for it. Mycroft passed the baby over and Greg held him in his own lap. Mikey grabbed the umbrella and swung it around, hitting Greg in the chest. Greg chuckled and Mikey sucked on the toy.

  
  


{oOo}

  
  


That night only Greg could get Mikey to bed. The baby refused to sleep when Mycroft put him down and screamed bloody murder. Greg tucked their son in, making sure the baby still had his umbrella.

'I told you he likes you,' Mycroft commented.

Greg smiled and leaned back into his husband's warmth. 'Mm, just had to buy him an umbrella; little weirdo, just like you.'

Mycroft chuckled. Circling his arms around Greg's waist, he hugged him tightly and kissed his neck. 'Poor Gregory, surrounded by strange men.'

'It's the best way to live,' Greg replied.


	26. Step Twenty-Six: Family

Mikey was three when he got a sibling. He was a three-month old who was found at a murder scene, his mother and father both killed in a home invasion. Greg and Mycroft took care of the little boy as the murders were solved. Unfortunately there were no family members to take the baby in. So Mycroft pulled some strings and three weeks after the murders, Logan Sherlock Lestrade-Holmes was welcomed to the family.

Logan was his birth name and they added Sherlock to honour the consulting detective. The baby was small for his age with curly, platinum blonde hair and bright green eyes. He was a gorgeous little man who Mycroft, Greg, and Michael all loved.

Michael didn't quite understand what had happened but knew Logan was his little brother. He took to showing Logan all his toys, including his umbrella (still a favourite and named Ulric. Mycroft and Mikey named it together and when Greg asked why, the politician shrugged), and any picture book he could get his hands on.

Like with Michael, Sherlock took to Logan like a house on fire. Whenever he and John babysat he could be found sitting on the floor with both boys, talking to them about science and literature and crime, everything Mycroft had taught him when he was a little boy.

Michael and Logan loved their Uncle Sherlock, or Sherly as Michael called him. Mycroft would never let him live that down.

Greg and Mycroft didn't work as much as they used to. Both wanted to see every step of their boys' lives, including first words and first steps. They wanted to be able to take Mikey and Logan to the zoo, or park, and the movies when they got older.

Both were hands-on dads, changing nappies and making food (Mycroft refused to feed them pre-bottled baby food. It was cooked vegetables thrown into a blender for their sons).

Greg retired when Mikey was six, Logan three. Mycroft had cut back on his own hours and was more a consultant now. He didn't spend so many days in the office though there was still the odd trip out of town that Greg couldn't know too much about.

Mikey was an active kid, wanting to play cricket and football and any other sport he could get into. He and Greg spent weekends sitting on the sofa watching the cricket while Mycroft read and Logan coloured.

Though Mikey looked like Mycroft (he was a tall, thin, and pale boy), he had started to act like Greg. Greg became his favourite person in the whole world and he often shouted for Daddy when he wasn't in the room.

Logan was a quiet boy who loved reading. He and Mikey were both smart but Logan had a thirst for knowledge that Mikey didn't. He enjoyed sitting on Mycroft's lap in the study and learning about plants, the solar system, anything he could be taught. He was close to Sherlock and John and claimed he wanted to be a doctor when he grew up.

There were rough times, like when Mikey went on a hunger strike because he couldn't go to the Ashes. Fourteen hours locked in his bedroom couldn't sway the boy's mind... not until John shouted that he was buying pizza. Then Mikey was out in a flash. And grounded for three weeks for being immature. (The boy was twelve but Mycroft had high standards).

There was the time Logan was bullied his first day of high school and Mycroft and Greg both went down to shout at the headmaster. Three weeks later Logan had no complaints and was top of his class.

Sherlock and John finally pulled the plug and had children. They found a surrogate in Mrs Hudson's niece, Abigail McDermott. They had twins, a boy and a girl. Patrick Mycroft Watson-Holmes had sandy blonde hair and dark blue eyes like John. Emma Simone Watson-Holmes had the same blonde hair as her older brother but her eyes were a chocolate brown like their birth mother's.

Sherlock was a terrific father, though he had to be stopped trying to let the twins preform experiments when they were two. Mikey and Logan were great cousins but hated the twins stealing Uncle Sherly's attention. Sherlock was a child-magnet and John knew it was because he acted like a kid himself.

Life was... hard, strange (with Sherlock and Mycroft, of course it was), but it was fun. Greg had a loving husband, two best friends, and adorable children. He had a new niece and nephew who loved him and often blew up his kitchen when they tried to bake.

Mikey was fourteen, Logan eleven, Patrick and Emma six. Greg, Mycroft, Sherlock and John were all at the park. The adults watched the kids play... and Sherlock too, he was running around, coat flapping about dramatically. Mikey threw a football at him and Sherlock chased him in circles trying to thump the smart arse. Logan eventually sat on the blanket with the adults, a book in his lap. Patrick and Emma tackled Sherlock to the ground and demanded he play cops and robbers. Greg was roped in too because he'd been a cop.

When they all settled down for lunch, Greg sat against a tree with Mycroft between his legs. Mikey was on the phone to his newest girlfriend (the other kids teased and made kissing noises), and Sherlock was lying on John's legs.

They ate and chatted, the adults kissed and the kids threw food at them. Greg grinned and wrapped his arms around Mycroft's waist.

'I love you,' he whispered and kissed his cheek.

'I love you too,' Mycroft replied.


	27. Step Twenty-Seven: Until Next Time...

Mycroft was leaving for another trip. Greg was used to them by now, they'd been married fifteen years after all. That didn't mean Greg had to like it.

He laid in bed watching Mycroft dress for the day, or week, however long he was going for. Mikey was over at his mate's place and Logan was still in bed. It was Saturday, hopefully their youngest son would sleep in too and leave Da in peace.

'I'm gonna miss you,' Greg said.

Mycroft smiled, doing his tie up and making sure it was perfect. 'I know, love, I'll miss you too.'

Greg pouted.

'You know I love you,' Mycroft said.

'If you did you wouldn't go.'

Mycroft's smile just broadened and he didn't say anything.

All too soon Mycroft was done. His stuff was packed and downstairs in the car with Mycroft's new assistant, Thomas. Anthea had moved up in the world and she, Mycroft and Greg stayed in contact. She was a smart woman, of course she wouldn't stay with Mycroft forever. That didn't stop Mycroft from complaining that she'd abandoned him whenever his new assistant did something wrong.

Mycroft and Greg stood before the front door and Mycroft put his briefcase and umbrella down to hug and kiss his husband. It was the same taste and gesture, but it hadn't waned in the years they'd been together. Mycroft still got a little jolt whenever he kissed Gregory Lestrade. And Greg still grinned like an idiot whenever they broke apart.

'Love you,' Greg said, kissing him again. 'Stay safe, okay?'

'I'll try, I promise,' Mycroft said. 'I love you, Gregory.'

'Well... bye, then,' Greg said, but made no attempt to move away from his husband.

Mycroft smiled and kissed his cheek. 'Until next time.'

‘Why don’t you ever say goodbye?’ Greg asked, hands hanging onto the politician’s hips.

Mycroft pulled back to look at him. 'Excuse me?'

‘You never say goodbye,’ Greg said, ‘only “until next time”.’ He looked up at Mycroft. ‘Why?’

His husband smiled and took Greg’s hands, bringing them up to his lips.

‘I never say goodbye, Gregory, because it's not goodbye. We _will_ meet again, I'll make sure of it.’

Greg smiled, colour tinging his cheeks. ‘So all those times you said until next time... you really meant it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Even after our first meeting?’ Greg asked. ‘When I basically wanted to rip your head off?’

Mycroft chuckled and drew Greg in until their bodies pressed together. ‘Yes, Gregory, even then I wanted to see you again.’ He smiled and leaned down to press soft kisses to the DI’s face. ‘Does that surprise you?’

‘Kind of,’ Greg said, ‘you made it seem like you hated me.’

‘No, _you_ hated _me_ ,’ Mycroft corrected. ‘I know I was... annoying.’

‘A bastard.’

‘Smug.’

‘Dickhead.’

‘Gregory,’ Mycroft sighed, drawing back and raising en eyebrow.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Greg said and smiled warmly at his partner. ‘So... don’t you have to go?’

‘Mm,’ Mycroft nodded and closed his eyes, drawing his arms around Greg’s shoulders. ‘In a minute.’

‘Myc, you have to go.’

‘I will.’

‘Mycroft...’

Mycroft groaned. ‘Fine, fine. I won’t be back for a week, you know.’

Greg grinned and leaned up to kiss Mycroft slowly. When they broke apart ten minutes later, Greg breathed his words softly against Mycroft’s lips.

‘Until next time...’

  
  


{THE END}

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author's Note:** Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. And thank you for the comments and kudos :)
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> {IBegToDreamAndDiffer}


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